


Sex is Weird

by artsyUnderstudy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom!Cas, Canon Compliant, Fluff, Lazy Sex, Love Confessions, M/M, Post Season 8, Sex, fallen!cas, top!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-25 23:59:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/959159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artsyUnderstudy/pseuds/artsyUnderstudy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He thinks maybe he’s been falling for a long time, now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sex is Weird

Sex is weird.  It never starts out that way, or sometimes it does, but you don’t really notice because of the endorphins.  You don't notice because of the adrenaline, the desire, pleasure, aching.   _Fuck_  you want and you take and it doesn’t matter much  _how_  it comes at you.  Not the weird noises, the awkward positions, the mess of fluids.  It’s all a haze, it’s all heartbeats, and fingertips, and teeth, and friction.  You just feel and you are felt, and that’s it.

It starts out like that for them, fevered, an hour after a hunt, a close call, Cas newly human and grossly fragile.  At least compared to what he’d been before.  Dean’s heart is pounding so hard his skin feels like it’s vibrating, hands fighting to steady as he wraps the fresh wound. 

He kisses Cas, then, because he has to, because he can’t take it anymore.  Because Cas is mortal and he can break now and he’s always been goddamn reckless and self-sacrificing at the worst of times.  He kisses him because after years and years of playing allies, friends, brothers, enemies, they’ve never played at this, and he can feel the latent desire bloom in his chest and spill out though his mouth as Cas responds.  When they fuck, it doesn’t matter that Dean used too much lube and Cas can’t get the position right because, in this way, it’s new for both of them.  There’s just so much there, so much they’ve been missing out on that they can’t fucking breathe much less notice how goddamn uncomfortable it is to fuck in a motel bathroom, feet slipping against the white tile floor, calves pressed up against the brass faucet in the bathtub, spines twisted to an odd angle as they grasp at one another.  It’s weird then, but they don’t mind, because it’s all  _please_ , and  _fuck_ , and  _come on_ , and  _more_.

It’s like that the first few times, the first dozen times, stealing away after another successful hunt, bodies overheated and overworked, blood pumping like battery acid through their worn muscles.  It’s like that for a while, but then it’s not, and it’s something else.

Dean looks up at Cas, back pressed against the headboard of his own bed, a small, cocky smirk plastered across his face, haloed by Dean’s collection of favored weapons.  They haven’t been hunting, not in a few days.  It’s the first time in a while Dean’s been able to sleep in his own bed, and Cas doesn’t say anything but he knows he’s grateful for the down time as well.  Cas isn’t altogether used to needing rest at all, but he copes, doesn’t complain much unless he does, but when he does it’s not to say he’s done but more to ahelp convince himself that he can muscle through it anyway.  He doesn’t lay down, he doesn’t give up.  Dean’s glad for that, at least, and he’s stopped making baby in a trench coat comments since he stopped wearing the trench coat.  It might also have something to do with the fact that you can’t really say that kind of shit to a guy that’s literally fucked your mouth.  At least, you shouldn’t, probably. 

Dean works him open lazily, two fingers in as Cas grins at him, reaching out to touch his arms as the muscle goes taut around his fingers.  Cas breathes the tension out through parted lips, and Dean leans in to kiss him, a grin to match, along with a gentle swell of affection.  The sex is different, now.  It’s still needy in a way, they still want each other, but they are comfortable in it, they know they’ve had it before, they’ll have it again, and they can slow down and savor it instead of treating it like their last fuck on earth.  Sometimes Dean misses it, the frenzy that comes with new territory, but those times are born out of aching and desperation and to be honest, despite how good the sex is, desperation is not as romantic as it sounds.  

He likes this, likes that Cas likes him, that he chooses to be here, instead of feeling like he needs to be.  There are still close calls, still that stone lodged in his throat when he’s not sure if that’s Cas’ blood or the monster they just ganked.  The sex is good, then, because he’s scared and Cas soothes the fear with touches so gentle and sincere they hurt and he just lets him in, lets him wrap him up and make it better, show him how alive he really is.  This doesn’t hurt like that, though, this doesn’t hurt at all.

Cas sighs as Dean removes his slick fingers and lines himself up, taking his time while Cas watches him, pupils dilated but otherwise calm, focused.  A small gasp escapes the angel, and yeah to Dean he’s always going to be an angel, that’s what he is, what he’s always been, no matter how red the blood he bleeds or how hard it is to stop the flow after it starts.  Dean moves slow at first, Cas still impossibly tight even after working him open.  “You okay?” Dean asks, reaching out to brush the hair away from those insanely blue eyes.  He used to think it was the grace that made them that blue, but they haven’t dimmed at all.

“M’fine,” Cas breathes out, rocking his hips into Dean’s steady thrusts, a small laugh at the back of his throat as Dean dips his head to tongue his nipple, Cas swatting him away like a perturbed feline.  “Tickles, you ass.” Dean grins and dips his head again, forgetting to check the movement of his hips and sliding out as Cas writhes beneath him, frustration and laughter as the onslaught continues.  “Dean, I am calling this off if you don’t fuck me in the next ten seconds.”  Dean barks out a laugh at that and fists his cock, lining up to slide back in.

“Like you would,” Dean teases, necking Cas playfully as he picks up a rhythm.  Cas catches his mouth to stifle his laughter, and Dean falls into it, a sudden rush of something that aches in the best way, just beneath his ribcage.  It’s something he feels a lot, above the thrum of need and desire and the rushes of adrenaline and desperation.  It’s more steady, more grounding, like gravity Cas pulls at him, and like a stone in orbit he’ll eventually venture too close and fall.  That thought doesn’t scare him half as much as it should.  He thinks maybe he’s been falling for a long time, now.

Dean grips at Cas as he picks up speed, thumb tracing his sharp cheekbone, Cas breathing heavy and warm against his neck, fingernails dug into his back.  “Dean,” he whispers, like a prayer.  Dean wraps his arms around him tighter and buries himself in him, his body trembling as a low moan pushes out from his throat.  He slows his pace and kisses Cas against the line of his jaw, and he feels Cas panting beneath him more than he can hear him.  He’s exceptionally quiet at times.

Dean leans back and looks down, Cas’ cheeks pink, eyes wide, chest heaving.  Dean still rocks in and out of him, but it’s lazy, not meant to get off just to maintain, and Cas cocks an eyebrow at him and pulls his knees back against his chest, his feet pressed against Dean’s shoulders.  “What are you doing?” He asks, slightly breathless.  The gravel is still in his voice, even if it's a little higher than normal.  It’s disguistingly sexy.  Dean turns his face to Cas’ foot and kisses his toes, one by one, as Cas stifles a laugh.  “I feel like my feet are perpetually sore, these days,” Cas tells him, groaning and little as Dean goes in deep, his hips knocking up against the underside of his still elevated legs.  Dean doesn’t respond to the comment except to take one of Cas’ feet in his hands and press his thumbs up in a circular motion against the arch.  This earns him an all out groan from the man beneath him. 

“You like that?” Dean asks, continuing to massage his way down toward Cas’ heel, and then up again till he reaches his toes, taking one at a time between his fingers and rolling.  Cas frowns at him and groans again for emphasis, and Dean smiles, takes hold of the other foot and repeats the motions.  Once he’s done Cas lowers his feet and pushes himself up, kisses Dean slow and deep, his beautiful hands lacing together around the back of his neck.  Dean smiles and kisses him back, quickening his pace as Cas’ dick, hard and wet, knocks against his stomach.  It’s weird how easy it is to switch between lazy affection and intensive desire, but Dean manages it, taking Cas’ dick in his shaking hand, wanting to devour all the soft sounds coming out of Cas as he presses forward, teeth locked around his lower lip.

“Harder,” Cas tells him, begs him, and Dean obliges, pressing against Cas on the mattress as he drives forward, lips and hands everywhere as they ache to get closer.  Cas comes just moments before Dean, a small shout as his body trembles and crumples against the soft mattress, running his hand through Dean’s thoroughly messed up hair, watching as Dean finally tenses up and falls apart.  Cas shudders as Dean fills him up.  They lay together for a few moments, curled into one another, bodies heavy, and still, and satisfied, placing small kisses on the skin easiest to reach. 

“You’re so strange,” Cas comments, not perturbed, more amused.  Dean laughs against his collarbone and raises his face to kiss him in the hollow of his throat, and Cas shudders slightly at the contact.

“You love it,” Dean tells him a half a beat before he realizes what he said.  He tenses and waits for Cas to reply, but there’s only silence filling up the room.  He thinks of himself as the stone again, burning as it falls to earth, powerless.  He’s plummeting, and suddenly there's the fear because he doesn’t know if the fire will eat him up, or if there will be solid ground to catch him at the end of it all.  After what feels like too much time, Cas finally speaks.

“I do,” he says easily, like Dean should know, like it’s not a big deal.  “I do love you.”

And Dean thinks only that sex is weird, and sometimes it’s more silly than romantic, or fevered, or full of blind desperation like it’s always been his entire life.  Like every fight he’s ever been in.  Sometimes it's this lazy, easy affection, and he prefers it because at the end of it Cas loves him, loves this, and Dean thinks he’s pretty sure that he loves him too.

**Author's Note:**

> On Tumblr Here: http://artsyunderstudy.tumblr.com/post/60598012916/sex-is-weird-it-never-starts-out-that-way-or


End file.
